I awoke with a start as the curtain was yanked off my cage. I stretched my back, stiff and sore after yesterday’s battle and spending the night sleeping on a hard floor. The weight of Clothis’ sword was a small comfort, although I wondered why I had been allowed to keep the weapon with me while my other friends had been disarmed. Perhaps King Cedrik knew as well as I did that in my hands, a sword was largely ornamental. Blinking against the sudden light, I saw two guards standing impatiently by the door of my prison. I hesitated a moment before crawling towards them, lacking the space to stand in my small cage. Without a word, they swung open the small door, grabbed me by the arms, and dragged me across the polished floor. I was roughly dropped before the throne and I quickly scrambled to my feet before anyone could accuse me of kneeling before the Huryl king.
Cedrik sat on his throne as if he had never left. He stared at me with an amused smile on his lips. I knew I must have appeared desperate, my clothes torn and stained, my hair a mess and my skin covered with dirt. Still, the king wanted something only I could give, so I stood with my head high and my eyes hard.
“Good morning,” he greeted me. “I trust you slept well?”
I didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. Cedrik waved his hand and the guards disappeared from the hall, leaving the two of us once again alone. He leaned forward, his eyes twinkling with greed.
“Give me the power of the three worlds,” he ordered.
“No,” I replied.
The response seemed to shock him at first. He sat back in his throne, his massive bulk readjusting to compensate for the shift in his weight, and he frowned at me.
“Need I remind you that both you and your friends are my prisoners?”
“You’ll kill them and me no matter what I do.”
“Now, now, Leila,” the king chided. “I can be fair. You will all go free if you give me what I desire.”
I shook my head, surprised at how brave and calm I felt. “I can’t give you the power you seek.”
The toad king’s calm face rearranged its features slowly to express his anger. His skin turned red and his beady eyes blazed. He curled his hands into fists and screamed a terrifying noise. I closed my eyes until the moment passed, then reopened them to find the king staring at me, his chest heaving.
“No one refuses me!” he cried.
In the height of his anger, his appearance changed more. His skin did not lose its flushed hue, and his eyes became wider and black as night. I took a step back in spite of myself, my earlier bravery fading away as my heart pounded in my chest. One of my hands went to the locket at my throat, clutching at it like a life preserver.
“The power will be mine!” Cedrik yelled, extending his arm in my direction.
A blast of energy struck me full in the chest and sent me flying. I hit the wall with such force, I’m sure I left an indentation in the stone. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I rose to my feet and faced the king once more. I didn’t dare summon help in case Ellena’s threat was still true. I would not put my companions in any more danger. I would not see another friendly face lifeless on a stone slab.
Cedrik laughed and closed his extended hand into a fist. I felt some strange pressure around me, squeezing me on all sides like the coils of a snake. Spots swam before my vision and I began to feel fain when the pressure suddenly dissipated, and I was tossed into the air and caught like a ball. I tried to regain my breath as I was thrown about the room, sometimes caught and other times missed. As I fell towards the hard ground, it was as if something was pushing me from above, and I struck the tiles with unbelievable force.
I wanted to stay down, to give up and die in that place, but a strength surged inside of me. Rising unsteadily to my feet, I wiped the blood that was trickling down my face. I was beaten, broken and bruised, but not defeated. Never defeated by a man like that. Cedrik smiled pleasantly at me, his face still red and his black eyes glistening. Slowly, I reached behind me and drew Clothis’ sword. Holding the naked blade before me, I faced the demonic Huryl king.
“That’s not a toy, Leila,” Cedrik spoke in a voice that reminded me eerily of my father. “Give me what I ask.”
“You will never have the power of the three worlds,” I told him, although I was unsure exactly what he asked.
Cedrik unleashed another blast of energy at me, but I stood firm. The sword cut through the attack and I felt a spirit presence stirring nearby. Still fearful for the safety of the others, I silently pleaded for the spirit to disappear. I could sense its disappointment and reluctance as it faded. Cedrik held out his other hand, intensifying the blow. It was sharp, like tiny icicles flying through the air, cutting at my skin. My felt slid backwards, but I held the sword like a talisman against the king’s magic.
“Leila!”
My eyes widened in surprise as I turned my head slightly towards the sound of the voice I knew so well. It was Jakob, standing in the doorway, pounding on thin air as an invisible shield kept him from leaping to my aid. He appeared haggard and dirty, as did the three men behind him. My heart soared as I recognized Cyrus and Will, apparently unhurt. I did not know the final man, taking him to be a poor soul rescued from the dungeon when my friends escaped.
But they were safe! My friends were safe!
I turned back to Cedrik, catching movement from the opposite side of the doorway. A staircase descended into the throne room, and at the base of the stairs I saw the concerned face of Fynn. Strengthened by the presence of my companions, I smiled to the king.
The spirits leapt to my command, the wind picking up around me and dispelling the vicious attacks of the king. The torches along the walls flared to new heights and licked at the tapestries and coverings. I advanced through the chaos of my creation towards Cedrik, the Huryl king. I once again felt the stirring of an unfamiliar spirit, and I called to it. Clothis’ sword began to glow with an unearthly light as I stood before the throne.
“I will have your power!” Cedrik snarled, heaving himself to his feet and drawing a jewel encrusted sword from beside his throne.
He moved surprisingly swiftly for such a large man, and before I had fully realized what was happening, he was upon me. Hastily I raised my sword to defend myself and heard the clash of metal against metal. I had closed my eyes before the blow and now I cracked them open. Clothis’ sword was no longer in my hands, but hovering in midair before me. The Huryl king’s blade was still against it as he fought the unmanned weapon.
The blade broke free and Cedrik stumbled a step back. My heart pounded as a while hand materialized, gripping the sword. An arm formed quickly after that until a whole figure shrouded in a dazzling light stood over me.
“Clothis?” I breathed.
The white figure didn’t turn to acknowledge me, but I could see her features with remarkable clarity. It was the Dyrel huntress, or her ghost, who had vowed to protect me and who had returned from the grave to fulfill that vow.
As Clothis and Cedrik duelled, I felt warm hands on my shoulders and realized Fynn knelt behind me. I turned into his arms, staining his white shirt with my blood as I cried into his shoulder. He pushed me gently away, still holding my arms as he peered into my eyes.
“Leila, how on earth did you do that?”
I blinked in confusion before a cry from the king drew my attention back to the battle. The shade of Clothis had knocked Cedrik’s sword from his hands, and the king now knelt at her mercy. Clothis held her sword to his throat and I could only watch in numb horror as she calmly slashed his neck. A fountain of blood gushed out, passing through the ghostly figure. As the king toppled over, Clothis raised her sword to me in salute and vanished. The weapon clattered to the ground and the invisible barrier that held back Jakob and the others vanished. All my companions came rushing into the room and surrounded me, their faces full of worry.
I felt overwhelmed by emotion at seeing the faces I thought I would never see again. Jakob hugged me and I winced in pain, battered from my own fight. Will retrieved my sword and held it out to me, his eyes downcast and his face sombre. I took the weapon and sheathed it, still unsure of what to say to the traitor I called friend.
It was then that I got a closer look at the half-dead prisoner Cyrus helped across the hall. Moving slowly as if a sudden motion might cause him to bolt, I fell to my knees before him.
“Damaeon?” I whispered, tears brimming in my eyes.
The Dyrel prince raised his head slightly at my voice, his face a map of cuts and bruises. He kept his left eye closed, a river of dried blood on his cheek beneath it. His cracked lips parted and he raised a shaky hand towards me.
“We found him in the dungeon,” Cyrus said angrily. “When Oponoe fell, he was captured and brought here.”
“He’s been tortured,” Jakob added quietly as I held the princes’ hand. “Who knows what’s been done to him, physically or mentally. Leila, I’m sorry.”
The tears in my eyes made clean rivers down my dirty cheeks. The kind, gentle, scholarly Prince of the Dyrel, forced into a war to protect his people, and treated like a disobedient dog. Closing my eyes, I summoned the spirits to help him, as I had done before. A white glow surrounded us both as I opened my eyes once more. I could see the most harmful of the Huryl ravages fading away, but his left eye remained closed. A wave of dizziness swept over me and I released his hand, unable to do anything more.
“Thank you, Leila,” Damaeon said gratefully. “I knew you would come.”
As the adrenaline from the recent events began to wear off, I found I was utterly exhausted. No longer able to keep my eyes open, I fell backwards into the waiting arms of slumber.
***
I woke not long later to find I was being carried on someone’s back down a long hallway. The whitish blonde hair and pointed ears gave my saviour away, and he glanced back at me as I moved.
“Stop squirming or I’ll drop you,” he warned.
“I can walk on my own,” I protested.
Fynn ignored me and I rested my cheek on his shoulder, breathing in the forest scent he always carried. The rocking motion of his steps nearly lulled me back to sleep when I remembered our original mission to the Huryl capital.
“The silver acorn!” I gasped, sitting up as best I could.
“What did I just tell you?” Fynn said irritably.
“I’ve got it,” Jakob replied quickly, holding out a small bundle wrapped in cloth. He gestured to Will with his chin. “He tried to steal it.”
Will shook his head and pointed to Fynn, pantomiming the Woodwalker touching the acorn and Will covering it with a cloth and handing it humbly to Jakob. The former Huryl snorted in displeasure and resumed his task of leading our group down the hall.
I fell back against Fynn, my thoughts wandering to the recent battle. The Huryl king – former king, I corrected myself – had used magic. That in itself was enough to confuse me, but he also kept shouting about the three worlds.
“Fynn,” I asked, “what are the three worlds?”
The Woodwalker hefted me a bit to adjust my weight on his back before answering. “The three worlds are the lands of the elves, the spirits, and the faerie.”
“What about this world?”
“The correct term for the three worlds is the Otherworlds. The human world isn’t considered, since it is the bridge between the three. Why do you ask?”
“The Huryl king kept demanding I give him the power of the three worlds,” I mumbled, getting sleepy again.
Fynn nodded. “It is within your power to give.”
“It is?” I exclaimed.
“Eventually,” he replied vaguely.
We continued in silence for some time. I was amazed at how long this hallway could be, until I recalled the elven tree and how we had descended deep beneath the earth without ever turning a corner. Perhaps the hallway was the same. I smiled sleepily at the thought of us slowly walking towards the centre of a spiral, only to find a dead end. Cedrik would be the type of king to desire such a feature in his palace.
“Fynn?” I asked again.
“Aren’t you asleep yet?” came the reply.
“The Huryl
king could use magic,” I continued, ignoring the comment. “Does that mean the
Faerie Queen has his soul?”
“Always questioning, never
content,” Fynn sighed. “I’m not sure but I don’t think Cedrik was human. He was
probably a fae.”
“Fae?” I repeated the unknown word.
“A disgraced faerie, stripped of his wings and power and exiled to the human world. Most fae die of old age before they realize they’re no longer immortal.”
I fell silent, pondering what Fynn had said. A disgraced faerie, thrown from his world to live among strangers. Is that what I had become, disgraced and exiled? Would I fill with the same kind of rage that had driven Cedrik until I found someone who could send me home? I had not thought of home for a while. I wondered how much time had passed, if anyone missed me or if they had presumed me dead and continued on with their lives. It was hard to picture either of my parents worried about me.
“Hey,” Fynn’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
I opened my eyes, surprised that I had dozed off again. Fynn still carried me tirelessly through the strangely deserted palace. I lifted my head to see that we had come to a crossroads. Jakob stood staring at is, scratching his head in confusion. Cyrus, still supporting the injured Damaeon, stood behind him while Will leaned against the wall.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been in the citadel,” Jakob admitted. “I can’t remember which way takes us out.”
I glanced at Will, who met my gaze reluctantly and shrugged. Once again, it seemed my companions looked to me for a decision. I could hear the sound of voices to the right, and the clatter of swords to the left. I sighed and slid off Fynn’s back to take a closer look. Both ways seemed equally passable, so the decision seemed pretty arbitrary. Should we go left or right?